


The Adventure Of The Yorkshire Viper

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [57]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Caring Sherlock Holmes, F/M, Framing Story, Inheritance, Jewelry, M/M, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Yorkshire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A snake in the grass commits what seems the perfect crime, one for which they had no apparent motive – but in striking at someone with a familial connection to a certain consulting detective, they have made a bad mistake.





	The Adventure Of The Yorkshire Viper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rikkuru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rikkuru/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Evil comes in many forms, something I have learnt through my own life and even more through that of my brother Sherlock. I have never understood the sort of mentality which seeks to derive pleasure and/or gain by the destruction of a fellow human being, but the villain in this crime was ingenious in their efforts and, but for the untimely return of my brother to England might well have succeeded. It was a measure of the great brain behind the great heart of the wonderful man in my own life that his response to my telling him about this case was to hold me close all that evening.

This case was mentioned only once in the original stories, when Sherlock was fingering through his index of 'V' cases and uttered the single word 'Vipers'.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes, Esquire_

I was disappointed in my brother Mycroft (yes, not for the first time and certainly not for the last). True, he had helped arrange certain matters that made my prolonged absence (and 'death') possible, but he had refused point-blank to allow our brother Sherry into his confidence. When the case I am about to describe necessitated a return to England, I made calling on my brother and informing him my second priority, although fortunately he had found out already thanks to the wonderful Miss Richards. My first priority had been to check up on poor Watson who, although I was pleased to see he was taken up writing our adventures together, looked in poor shape after losing his wife earlier in the year. I felt like such a heel!

My reason for returning was familial, and not one I felt inclined for anyone to know about. Our mother had passed just days after the events at Reichenbach (fortuitously before the news of that had reached her), and typically Mycroft had not bothered to tell me until the end of the year, the rat! I naturally visited her grave and then turned to the reason for my return, her uncle Mr. Winston Sherrinford (my grandfather Percy's younger brother). That gentleman was some eighty-five years of age, living in the family home at Towton in the West Riding of Yorkshire. I had never met him myself but the news of his family troubles that I had read in a French newspaper made it clear that he needed my assistance. And he was far enough removed from London that there was no danger of my encountering a certain doctor to whom I had nearly come forward before my instinct to preserve him overcame my wish to speak to my old friend.

I really needed to get a grip!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The English reader of any learning will remember correctly that the fields just south of Towton were in 1461 the scene of the bloodiest battle in English history when up to a hundred thousand men clashed to see which side of the Plantaganet royal dynasty, the Lancaster or the York branch, would rule England. My approach to the Sherrinford family home was from Stutton Station which lay north of Towton, but I was reminded of the pointlessness of the battle despite the nearly thirty thousand casualties; within a few years King Edward the Fourth had all but thrown away the fruits of his victory with his disastrous marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, a union which would ultimately destroy his Yorkist dynasty.

It was Watson's fault that I knew such utterly unimportant information, damn him!

I had not thought as to how to approach my great-uncle so first checked around the village to find out what I could about him, not revealing my identity to anyone as of yet. I soon discovered that he was a recluse and was never seen out of his house, so was still undecided as to how to approach him. This uncertainty was quite out of my normal character, I mused as I knocked at his door and waited.

It was opened by an elderly gentleman who, presumably, was my relative. He peered at me and seemed quite cross for some strange reason. I shall never forget the first words that he spoke.

“Where is your damn hat?”

I was as it happened wearing my normal headwear, a very suitable and solid item considering that the gusty West Riding wind had done its level best to dislodge it on several occasions. I looked at him in surprise.

“Pardon?” 

“You are supposed to be wearing a deer-stalker!” he grumbled. “Well, come you in. I have not got all day, you know!”

Then I understood. For reasons only they will ever know the illustrator chosen to add pictures to Watson's stories had pictured me reasonably well from his description, except that for some inexplicable reason I was wearing a most ridiculous deer-stalker in our adventures. Quite why I would have been seen dead in such an item I had had no idea (although when Watson did get round to publishing the events at Reichenbach, I supposed that I would indeed be seen dead in it!). And my relative clearly knew who I was, which was also disconcerting. Although when I entered his study and saw a whole set of _”Strand”_ magazines on the shelf, I began to understand why.

“I suppose you have come about poor Clem”, my uncle said, sitting down slowly. “He always has been one for getting himself into scrapes despite not yet having got to thirty, but this murder thing – bad even for him!”

I was here to assist my great-uncle in the matter of his grandson, my cousin Mr. Clement Lovelace. Mr. Winston Sherrinford had had five children, four sons who had more than secured the Sherrinford dynasty and finally a daughter, Anthea, who had married a local verger called Mr. George Bow. They had had one child, the aforementioned Clement, who I had expected (from what little I knew of my mother's family) to follow his father into the Church. However his life had turned out rather differently – and of late, disastrously.

Young Clement had taken a post at a small jeweller's shop in the town of Tadcaster, which lay but a few miles north of Towton. He had seemed content with his life according to the reports that Mycroft (with more than a little grumbling) had secured for me but then he had chanced across Lady Callisto Lovelace. Her father Lord Ribblesdale had, until his death some years before, been one of the richest gentlemen in the West Riding, and it had naturally been assumed that his four children – his sons Cephælion, Cæculus and Corinthus and his daughter – would share that money. He instead had had his money placed in a trust fund, so that his children would only receive an income from it. Given that all four had somewhat less than good reputations when it came to money, perhaps such caution had been advisable.

What had happened next had come as a shock. According to my notes the wording of the original settlement had implied but not actually stated that the capital would be shared out when the eldest son, Cephælion Lord Ribblesdale, attained twenty-five years of age. However, what was revealed on that date (which had occurred at the end of last year) had been rather different. The capital would only be shared out amongst only _married_ offspring when Mr. Cephælion attained thirty years of age (curiously there had been no insistence on a son or heir, which I thought odd). Any one of the four who had not got themselves married by that deadline would not get a penny – and of course, the shares of the others would thereby increase, which was also a factor.

Lady Lovelace was a most unpleasant creature, and it was with some surprise that I found she was married to of all people my cousin Clement. However, on checking further I discovered the likely reason why. The wording of the will was not such that the recipients had to be married on Lord Cephælion's thirtieth birthday, merely that they had to have _been_ married for a year and a day before that happened. Doubtless Lady Lovelace's marriage to my cousin had been one of convenience, although she she had insisted that he change his name to hers. I could not see what he had got out of it except possibly a large dose of earache!

“You may think us all backwards folks out here in the sticks”, my great-uncle said, “but I exchange letters regularly with your brother. Sherrinford of course, not Mr. Pomposity himself!”

I smiled at the far too accurate description of Mycroft. 

“That shop Clement works at in town”, my great-uncle said. “He and the owner Mr. Delamore. They are” - he waved his hand vaguely in the air - “you know. Like Sherrinford. Batting for the other side.”

Ah. I understood. Indeed I was surprised that someone from my uncle's generation was so tolerant towards that sort of thing. Fortunately illumination on that point soon followed.

“Sherrinford and his, uh, friend have been very good to me”, he said, “more so than most of my own family, with the exception of Clement that is. Mr. Hardland in particular arranged everything so I could stay here; he even arranged regular visits from a nurse in town.”

“It seems the problem is that Lady Lovelace has disappeared”, I said.

“I suppose some would see that as a problem”, my great-uncle conceded, “if only because the police suspect Clement for some daft reason. He went into the marriage with his eyes open; there was no love there but he would not have done away with the wretched woman. Many others would have, given half a chance!”

“Why did he marry her?” I asked curiously. “I can see what she had to gain, but not him.”

“I think you should ask him that”, my great-uncle said. “He moved into rooms on the edge of town after the disappearance; I did not expect him to want to stay around that ridiculously large house she bought. Or perhaps you might ask Mr. Delamore who lives above his shop in the High Street.”

“I will so do”, I said. “And I promise that I shall report back once I have found out what really happened.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I decided to return to Tadcaster by carriage, as it was not that far. As I bowled along what presumably passed for a road in these parts, I wondered just _why_ Lady Lovelace had disappeared. If she was dead then her relatives were obviously possible suspects, yet I had a feeling that she was not. And if she was alive, what motive was there for a disappearance? Unless.....

I was beginning to have a bad feeling about this case.

'X. Delamore' was a small but well-presented shop in a good position in the High Street. A smart and rather handsome man in his late thirties was neatly wrapping something up for a customer, presumably as a gift for someone. He handed the finished package over and bowed, and she left the shop smiling. He looked at me curiously.

“Mr. Xavier Delamore?” I asked.

“I am he”, the jeweller said, clearly wary. “Who might you be, sir?”

“My name is William Scott”, I said. “I am Mr. Clement's cousin, and am making certain inquiries as to the recent disappearance of Lady Callisto Lovelace.”

The shutters promptly slammed down on the man's face.

“I am afraid that I cannot help you”, he said coldly. “Good day, sir.”

“This concerns your _partner_ ”, I said softly. 

Mr. Delamore had turned to head out the back of the store, but he froze at those words and looked at me. His shoulders slumped.

“There are no secrets in this place!”, he said, sounding almost bitter.

“How long?” I asked.

“We opened five years ago”, he said resignedly. “A tiny place in a backstreet not far from here. Then this place came on the market. It was perfect but we couldn't afford it, so.....”

He sighed heavily.

“So my cousin married Lady Lovelace for the money to expand the shop”, I finished for him. The motive.

“It was firmly understood as a business arrangement on both sides”, Mr. Delamore said. “That is what is so wrong about this whole farrago.”

“Her disappearance?” I asked, confused. He shook his head.

“I am sure that is welcome by just about everyone!” he said sharply. “No, she gains nothing by this. The terms of the will stated that she had to have been married for a year and a day before her brother was thirty, but she and Clem had only been together for just over four months. Unless she is planning to drag some other desperate sod up the aisle to qualify for the loot. She still has a few years, though with a character like hers she would need it!”

“You think that she is still alive?” I asked. “On what grounds?”

“Clem wouldn't hurt a fly!” the jeweller said scornfully. “That is what is so wrong about all this. _Everyone_ loses by her disappearance. Business is down because the police keep coming here, and her brothers came round yesterday to have a moan at me - which reminds me, I need to buy a book on setting man-traps!”

I smiled.

“But at least you had the money for the shop”, I pointed out. To my surprise he shook his head.

“Her Ladyship was paying it off in instalments”, he said. “Twenty per cent down, ten per cent each of the next three quarters, and the final fifty per cent at the end. Clem and I will have to close down and move back to Ball Alley; there is no way we can make the final payment with our cash flow the way it is, and the banks would never loan us money with this hanging over us. We might even have to close.”

I looked at him thoughtfully.

“I think that I am beginning to see a new angle on this crime”, I said slowly. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Delamore. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day I went round to the small suburban house on the edge of town where my cousin was residing. He was a handsome blond fellow not a little unlike Sherry, albeit he was clearly bowed down by recent developments. I noted the stylized letter 'X' on the ring on his wedding-finger which, in his distress, he had neglected to cover up.

“May I ask who has employed you to investigate this case, sir?” he asked.

“Yes”, I said.

There was an awkward silence.

“You may ask”, I continued. “But as a consulting detective I extend that privacy to _all_ my clients. I am sure you understand that I cannot reveal their name. However, I will tell you that is in their interests that your wife be found as soon as possible, and I fully intend to make sure that that happens.”

“Well then, you may be interested in this”, he said, taking a silver platter with a letter on it and passing it to me. “The original came this morning, hand-delivered. I gave it to the police of course, but I insisted that I be allowed to write out a copy.”

I read it and sighed. Just as I had expected it was a hand-written note signed by Lady Lovelace, stating that unless a large sum of money was deposited in a bank account within three days she would be murdered by her captors.

“Was the original in your wife's writing?” I asked.

“It was”, the man said glumly. “Her scrawl is unmistakeable. But even if I sold my half of the business and cashed in all my investments, I could barely make this sum. I will have to take out a loan.”

“I would advise you not to do that”, I said. 

My cousin looked shocked.

“Mr. Scott, there may be no love in our marriage, but I would not let my wife die at the hands of the people who hold her!”

“I spoke with Mr. Delamore yesterday”, I said. The man visibly tensed.

“How is Xav... how is he doing?” he asked quietly.

“Business is down, of course”, I said. “Sir, I wish to help you. I need to ask some of the servants at the house where your wife disappeared certain questions and I need you to be guided by me. If you do, I can all but guarantee that your wife will be physically unharmed.”

He smiled wanly.

“ _All_ but guarantee?” he asked.

“It is better that your complete ruination”, I said. “Tell me; did your wife have a personal maid?”

He laughed hollowly.

“We tried employing one several times, but none lasted”, he said. “She could not even keep a companion with her attitude! Three of the housemaids cleaned her room on a rota, and they all hated doing it.”

“Let us go to the house”, I said, “and I can meet them.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Just over an hour later three almost identical young girls were stood in a row by the fireplace, all looking decidedly nervous.

“I thank you ladies for sparing me some of your precious time”, I said courteously. “Now, Lady Lovelace disappeared on a Friday. Which of your ladies had the onerous task of attending her for that particular day?”

The blonde one of the three stepped forward and curtsied.

“I did, sir”, she muttered.

“And you are?” I asked gently. I was almost tempted to laugh at her horrified expression; seemingly she thought that this was some sort of trick question. 

“Sally, sir”, she quavered. “I do Thursdays and Fridays.”

“Hello, Sally”, I smiled. “I need to know if Lady Lovelace went out anywhere prior to her disappearance, that is all.”

“Only to the library on Thursday, sir”, she said. “I had to go with her, to carry her books.”

“Hmm”, I said. “Who had Wednesdays?”

“Me, sir”, the middle girl said, stepping forward. “Bobbie; I do Mondays and Tuesdays too. She went to York on Tuesday and came back in a foul mood! We all hid as much as we could.”

“And Wednesday?” I prompted.

“She didn't go out that day but she did have two visitors”, the girl said. “Two very large, very rough-looking men. I didn't like them one little bit!”

“You did well to observe what you did”, I smiled. I looked at the third girl, then frowned. “And you are?”

“Millie, sir”, she said, curtseying. “I do weekends.”

I nodded and stared at her in silence. She fidgeted.

“I think that you had better tell me _exactly_ what happened, Millie”, I said firmly. The girl looked at her friends for support, clearly horrified.

“Sir?” she asked.

“The police statements were that Lady Lovelace left the house on Friday afternoon unseen by her staff, and was not missed until a maid took her tea up at four o'clock precisely”, I said. “But _you_ clearly know something in addition to that. Please tell me what.”

She gulped.

“There's a service-entrance at the back, sir”, she said. “Friday, I was cleaning the back room and I opened the window to let in some fresh air. Two men were hoisting a huge crate down the back path; they had a cart waiting in Byland Terrace. I... I thought......”

She trailed off. I knew full well what she had thought.

“You have not mentioned this to the police?” I asked. 

She shook her head.

“I will pass this information on for you as an anonymous tip-off”, I said to her evident relief, turning back to Mr. Lovelace. “Thank you, sir, for your servants' time.”

My relative dismissed the three maids, and as they left the butler arrived with a telegram. He read it and went deathly pale.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“They have arrested Xav!” he said, clearly angry. “He says that they found the same paper as the ransom note was on the shop counter, and the message was written by the same type of pen he keeps next to it. Ridiculous! Anyone could have put that paper there! And it is definitely her writing!”

“I doubt that anyone 'put it there'”, I said with a smile. “This has indeed been a most interesting case, Mr. Lovelace. I suggest that you attend to your partner, whilst I will locate your wife.”

“She could be anywhere!” he said bitterly.

“I would expect her to be in only one of four places”, I said, to his evident mystification. “I shall of course do you the courtesy of informing you immediately there are any developments. But do not act until I tell you, sir. Your whole future depends on it.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day I went to the police station in Tadcaster. I knew that was not where I wanted to be, but I appreciated that even in the provinces, police officers did not take well to others impinging on 'their' territory, even if they were all supposed to be on the same side. The station generously spared a Constable Fitzgerald, who was so thin he might have disappeared had he turned sideways. The two of us then took the train to the capital of the North.

York is a most beautiful city, and I decided that once my present troubles were over, I would return and spend some time here. Watson had once expressed a wish to see around the place.... well, we would see.

We reported to the main station in York where I apprised a Sergeant Grissom (who from his bulk had presumably eaten Constable Fitzgerald's food allowance for the past year!). He seemed dubious about my request but agreed that there was no harm in looking, and provided me with two extra constables of normal dimensions to accompany me. As it was now nearly lunchtime I decided to break for a meal; the York constables were more than a little taken aback at the way in which the slender Constable Fitzgerald could make food disappear so fast!

After a pleasant meal (or three, in Constable Fitzgerald's case!) we continued to our destination, a large and ugly building on the edge of the city. It was clearly in the process of being rebuilt one part at a time, and someone had affixed the rather unusual name 'Vipers' to the front.

“Use your enemy's hand to catch a snake”, I smiled. “An old Persian proverb.”

The constables all looked at me as if I were mad. I supposed that Persian proverbs did not travel well in Yorkshire.

“You are looking for someone in the old asylum?” Constable Peters asked.

“This building was sold some time back when they built the new asylum on the other side of town”, I said. “The lady who purchased it is of interest to me, as she is attempting to ruin someone I know. I intend to stop her.”

Constable Fitzgerald gasped.

“You mean the old bag.... I mean, Lady Lovelace is in there?”

He had gone bright red, not helped by his fellow policemen chuckling at his slip.

“We shall soon see”, I said, not bothering to hide my own smile. “She owns three other country places and may have gone to one of them, but this is far and away the nearest and I believe she would not have wanted to put herself out in any way. Ah, he is here before us.”

A cab was drawn up outside the place, and a smartly-attired gentleman was standing next to it.

“Mr. Lavery, lawyer to the Lovelace estate”, I explained to the constables. “Thank you for coming, sir. Let us see if the old b.... the woman is at home.”

Poor Constable Fitzgerald flushed even redder. I knocked at the door and a footman opened it. To his surprise I immediately pushed past him despite his weak protestations, followed by my four companions.

“Who is it, Albert?” came an imperious voice from an open door to one side of the huge hall. I grinned, changed direction and walked over to it, pushing it open and walking through. The others followed despite the footman's continuing complaints. A large woman was sat on the couch squinting at us all in a most unwelcoming fashion.

“Who are you?” she demanded haughtily.

“Gentlemen”, Sherlock smiled. “Allow me to present the kidnapper of Lady Callisto Lovelace. Her name? Lady Callisto Lovelace!”

They all stared at me in shock. 

“This is a private residence!” the woman snapped. “I will have you forcibly removed!”

The lawyer moved around the constables, and I could see from her sudden pallor that she recognized him.

“Not until Mr. Scott here explains what the hell is going on”, he said firmly. “I am _shocked_ , Lady Callisto, to find _you_ here. I cannot think of any reason for your actions whatsoever.”

“I can”, I said. “The wilful attempt to destroy a husband, orchestrated by his own wife.”

“Hardly a wife!” the woman snapped. “I know what he and that so-called partner of his got up to in that nasty little shop of theirs! I saw them _kissing!”_

“Quite recently”, I said, “Lady Lovelace made an unannounced call on her husband at his shop, and discovered that the relationship with his business partner was a rather closer one that he had led her to believe....”

“Adultery!” she spat out.

“Theft, extortion, blackmail and a wilful attempt to destroy a human being”, I retorted. “You decided then and there to ruin your husband, and you took great pleasure in so doing. You arranged for two dubious-looking men to call on your apartment and made sure that they were seen by your servants. It is doubtless annoying for you that they disliked you sufficiently not to inform the police of that fact, but on Friday you walked out of your house unseen and came here.”

“You bastard!” she snapped.

“Quite possibly”, I said coldly. “You continued the charade by arranging for your actors to be seen removing a large crate along the back of your property soon after your departure, the implication being that there might be a body in there. But you did something far, far worse. You stole not only some sheets of writing paper from the shop where your husband's partner worked, but also took his pen to write the ransom note with.”

“Has he been charged?” she demanded with an eagerness that I found frankly sickening.

“He has not”, I said. “I sent a warning to the sergeant who took him in for questioning that developments this day might make such an action look foolhardy in the extreme, and that he should delay for at least twenty-four hours.”

“I have done nothing wrong”, she said haughtily. “And you are still trespassing!”

“That is debatable”, I said. “A prosecution for extortion would however be difficult to prove.”

The woman sneered.

“ _I_ have something to say on that matter”, the lawyer said, sounding very cross. “It would have behoved you, madam, to check the contents of your late father's will before embarking on this foul act of vindictiveness. It is with great pleasure that I must say it will be a most expensive oversight on your part.”

“What do you mean?” Lady Lovelace demanded.

“Like your lawyer, I took the trouble of doing what you palpably did not and read the _whole_ of that will”, I said with a knowing smile. ““One clause is particularly interesting. If any of you gets charged with a crime – charged, not convicted - before Lord Cephælion reaches the age of thirty, then that person loses any entitlement to the estate. But I am sure that when your brothers encouraged you in this foolishness, they did make sure to mention that particular clause?”

From the lady's thunderous expression that would have been a 'no'. Constable Fitzgerald grinned and pulled out his handcuffs.

“Lady Callisto Lovelace”, he said slowly, “I am arresting you for attempted extortion. I must caution you that anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you.”

“And that is not the worst part”, I added. 

“What?” the lawyer asked.

“The courts can grant Mr. Lovelace a _decree nisi_ on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour”, I said. “In six months, that becomes a decree absolute. Had you waited just two more months, my lady, you might have got away with it.”

“He will never get a court hearing that quickly”, she snapped.

“Next Monday, nine o'clock”, I snapped back, thinking quietly that Mycroft at least had some uses. “Sometimes it pays to have friends in high places. And under the terms of your marriage, your husband now has full control of your funds and can complete the purchase of his shop. With Mr. Delamore.”

She rose and advanced on me with surprising speed for a lady of her bulk, but Constable Fitzgerald moved amazingly quickly and had her handcuffed before she was halfway there. She was hustled from the room, spitting angrily but defeated.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

There was, I suppose, the danger that a vengeful Lady Lovelace might try to ruin my cousin husband by spreading rumours about him and his partner, but through her lawyer I made clear to her that such a move would be inherently unwise. Her case which otherwise might be tried quietly would become a public spectacle if she herself made any sort of fuss; I would guarantee that. I was also pleased when Tadcaster Police Station released Mr. Xavier Delamore that same day. Both men thanked me profusely.

My great-uncle was also delighted with the way that things had turned out, although sadly I would never see him again for he died of a winter chill some three years on. He did however leave me a most amusing letter in which he detailed how his last illness had been enlivened by most of his family suddenly and amazingly remembering his existence and being _so_ helpful, for which 'consideration' he left each of them one farthing and divided his estate equally between his grandsons Clement and Sherry.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
